AU Bella and Edward in 60 years
by freckled-smile
Summary: Bella is now in her late 80s and has become ill with Alzheimer's. Edward and the entire Cullen family continue to dote over her and help her in her final days.


_Author's Note: This story takes place after _Eclipse_. It is written as the final installment of the series as to what would have happened had Bella remained human. Since it occurs before _Breaking Dawn_, it has been written so that vampires and humans can have normal children together (not the half-breeds from BD). In this story Bella is 84 and is very ill with Alzheimer's. On her good days she smiles, but never does she remember Edward. This is the story of their life together in the way that the series should have ended. _

I turned on the taps in the bathroom to the assigned markings; hot had to be turned to the red dot on the wall, cold to the blue dot. This sound of rushing water I heard daily, each time worrying that it would be the last that I would hear of it. I lit the candles, turned on the CD with Bella's songs, and waited. Once the tub was full I sprinkled a handful of bath salts and then stuck the thermometer into the water to make sure it was the right temperature. It was a bit warm so I put my hand into the water to cool it. When she was younger, Bella used to call me her portable ice cube and I missed those days.

I walked down our hallway, past the photos of our family, past the "thinking of you" flowers, past the live-in nurse's bedroom. Arriving at the baby blue door at the end of the hall I waited before knocking, hoping that today would be a good day for her. Like a nervous school-boy I flattened my hair, breathed into the palm of my hand and smoothed the creases in my shirt. With a hopeful breath I knocked on the door.

"Yes? Yes? Who's there?" a frantic voice replied. Her voice wobbled as she spoke, with her s's whistling a soft tune. She didn't scream this morning or call her nurse, so I knew that it would be a good day for her; for us.

"It's me, Bella. It's Edward."

Slowly she repeated my name in a low hush, trying to remember how she knew me. She did this every morning, and although it hurt that she didn't know who I was, it was comforting because she was trying, and that meant that I had a chance of getting her to remember our life together.

"May I come in?"

Bella paused for a moment and then said "yes."

Her bedroom had not changed since we first met. The 1990s computer sat idly in the corner, a bright bouquet of flowers placed in front. Her laundry bag still overflowed, now with nightgowns, bed sheets and bloomers. Her window still sat slightly open, and each night I would still climb in to watch her sleep. Some nights I could hear her call my name in her sleep, other nights she would soil herself and I would have to change her before the next morning. So much had changed between us, but not my love for her. If anything, the limited time-frame that we had left together made me want to stretch every moment with her as much as I could.

Bella sat up in her bed, blankets pulled to her chest, curlers holding strays of snow white hair. She cocked her head a bit to the side as she saw me enter and then gave a weak smile. "I'm terribly sorry," she began, "but I feel as though we've met before. Don't think of me as rude. There are not many faces that I recognize these days." I smiled at her and replied.

"My name is Edward Cullen. I come often to visit you."

A welcoming smile spread across her wrinkled cheeks, past her folded eyelids, to her creased forehead. Unlike the soft features of her youth, her current expressions were encompassing, requiring her entire face to articulate a single emotion. Her eyes were the same vibrant brown of the past, but now they surrounded clouded pupils that sometimes couldn't see. Mixed with the thinned-out and worn lips of a woman who had much to laugh about in her life, she was strangely beautiful.

"I've run you a bath. Can I help you out of bed?"

Still as stubborn as ever, Bella shook her head and swung her feet from the bed. Bracing herself against the headboard, she put the weight onto her feet and slowly stood. Once steady she freed her hand from the headboard and sang "ta-da!" in a theatrical way. It was hard to look at her and not think of all of our days together without feeling happily fulfilled. Of all of my family, I am the only one who has ever known of all aspects of love. I have known the love of a wife, a love that repeats itself everyday. I have known the love of a child, a love which I have experienced three times with our children Esme, Charlie and Jacob. I have known the love of life and a respect for its delicateness, something I witnessed first-hand as Bella and my children have broken bones, scraped knees, and even entered into comas.

As she started to sway on her weak legs, I ran to her side and supporter her from under her arms.

"Oh dear!" she squeaked, feeling the coldness of my hands. "You poor thing. Did you not have mittens on while outside?"

I looked over my shoulder to the partially open window to the swaying green trees in the sun. "No," I replied, "I guess I didn't remember mittens today."

Bella reached for one of my hands and then placed it against her face. Though she was the one who felt the coldness of my hands, I was the one who shivered. The warmth of her fingers upon mine, the softness of her face, the tenderness in her touch; she gave me butterflies whenever she touched me so willingly with her love. When we reached the bathroom door, I let her push it open. The candles cast a gentle glow across the same tile-work that her father had done over 80 years ago. In the air, the fresh scent of lavender and flowers swam around the room, a smell that I hoped would rekindle her memory as to who I was. She used to tell me that I smelled of lavender and flowers and I wanted her to remember.

Bella closed her eyes and moved her head serenely back and forth with the song that played from the CD player. It was the song that I wrote for Bella when our first child was born.

"I know this song," she said, still not opening her eyes. "It's the song in my dreams."

Again she was smiling, but now her eyes had opened and with a glazed expression she looked at me.

"How did you find it?"

I wanted to tell her about its history, why and when I had composed it, but I knew that she would never be able to understand. I still looked 17 to her, and to explain that we were husband and wife would undoubtedly cause alarm. But I couldn't lie to her, not now not ever.

"A friend of yours wrote it for you many years ago," I admitted, "he was your lover. The two of you had a wonderful life together and he loves you very much."

Bella looked towards the bath and with my assistance sat down on the stool by the tub and placed her hand in the water. Her face was thoughtful now as she looked into the water and gracefully tickled its surface.

"Loves?" she asked, still looking into the water. "If he loves me then where is he now?"

The disappointment in her voice felt like salt in a wound, or at least what I remembered of that sensation.

"He was here yesterday," I began, for it was true. I was here yesterday, the day before, and all other days before that for the past 67 years. "And he will be here again today. He comes every day to see you."

Bella didn't respond as she continued to gently finger the water. Finally when the song ended, she spoke.

"The water is the perfect temperature. Thank-you."

The next song started to play, our wedding song, and she continued to look away. From behind, I could see her head swaying back and forth, but could not see her face. As the notes went from being soft and delicate to having more strength and building climax in the song, a sob escaped Bella's mouth. Her body shook from behind as her head drooped towards her chest. Punching the water with her fist, she turned to look me in the eyes.

"Are you my grandson?"

The whites of her eyes were snaked with red veins, like cracked in the porcelain finish of her face. She scanned my face, recognizing parts and discovering others. I wanted to tell her that I was her grandson so that I could hug her, tell her that I loved her and not scare her; however, I knew that I couldn't. Hiding the sadness in my own face, I tried to give her my best smile. I tried to dazzle her like I once could.

"No, Bella. I am not your grandson. I am just a good friend of yours."

She returned her gaze to the water and continued crying as she quivered with tears. Her head shook back and forth, as though disagreeing with the rippled reflection in the water. Perhaps today would not be a good day for us. Whenever she cried like this, it made me feel selfish for coming to see her at all. But we were co-dependent on each other, whether she recognized me or not. On some days I would wait by her window and I would watch her all day. Though she never remembered who I was, she still would look at the door as though expecting a visitor. And of course, whenever I saw that, I would run up and draw her bath.

When Bella was first diagnosed with Alzheimer's, the two of us did whatever we could to prepare for the future. The dots by the taps, for example, were Bella's idea so that I could always run her the perfect bath._ Whenever I will climb into this bathtub, I will be instantly comfortable_, I remember her saying. _And whenever I feel like that, I know that I will think of you._ A lump rose in my throat as I thought back to her optimism five years ago. Currently she was smashing her hand again and again in the water, frustrated and upset that she couldn't remember.

Cautiously I approached her and placed my hand gently on her back. When she didn't shrug it off, I rubbed small circles up and down her spine. These movements were all rehearsed, all having purpose other than simply comforting her. When Bella was pregnant with Esme, the doctor had me rub her back in similar strokes. On good days, she would recognize the movement and she would tell me about her children. Though it was rare that she ever had the right names, she certainly remembered the key parts, such as Jacob and Charlie getting tattoos together, and Esme graduating from medicine school. Her sobs slowly turned to calmness as I continued to rub her back, and eventually the convulsions in her body ceased completely.

"You don't know what it's like," Bella said, avoiding my eyes and looking at the wall. "I know that you were once someone important to me, but I don't know who you are. This morning some woman gave me pills and told me that she was a nurse. How would I know if she wasn't? I wake up and I don't remember anything, and I'm sure that the previous day was the exact same. It's like I'm reliving the same day for the rest of my life, but I don't even know that I am reliving it. I am scared when I wake up and it isn't until noon that I realize that I probably feel like this everyday."

Bella sniffled and a lone tear slid down her face. Pulling my sleeve over my hand, I wiped the wetness from her aged skin. This wasn't the first time that she'd explained this to me, but I treated it with novelty that it deserved. It scared me more than it scared her, though she would never believe it. I saw her deterioration daily; her bad days, her fits, her endless crying and fear. And what could I do? I had to sit back and watch my wife suffer as her internal demons waged war against her awareness. From time to time I thought that I could change her feelings, and I would tell her of our marriage and our happy life together. On two incidences when I told her our story she really did believe me, but those both occurred three years ago and every other attempt since has resulted in a destructive hysteria that was significantly worse than any fit she normally experienced. And so, I decided I would ask her input on the subject.

"You think that I was once someone close to you." I said. "Who do I think I was?"

This was one of the few questions I could ask her where the answer didn't matter. Some of the past answers I had received were her cook, an adventurer, a traveler, and a Saint. This question usually left the least amount of an emotional scar and was one of the only questions that I could ask her where I just laughed at the response. Even though she never guessed who I was, the answers were always people of great importance and prestige, and I liked hearing that she still thought that I was someone great to her.

When I asked her this time, however, she looked at me differently. Taking her fingers from the water, Bella wiped them dry on her nightgown and then reached for my face. Cupping her hand under my chin, around my cheek, tracing my eyebrows and the bridge of my nose, Bella studied my face. Her hands felt like fire against stone, and I tried to absorb all of the heat from her body; tried to take a part of Bella inside of me. She paused when her hands traced the shapes of my eyes and smiled.

"You have the most beautiful golden eyes," Bella said. "I know I've seen these before."

Instinctively, I reached for Bella's hand and held it in mine. A small gasp escaped her mouth and then tears welled up in her eyes. I feared the worse and let go of her hands, certain that she was going to have another fit and be scared again. But then she grabbed my hand back and held on tightly.

"Edward," she whispered, more to herself than to me.

Suddenly joy erupted from the center of her face and she reached over and pulled me into a strong hug. As I wrapped my arms around her, I felt the frailty of her body under my arms. Whatever amount of delicateness she had before, just as a human, was incomparable to this. Her every rib, every bone, felt like fragile glass under the thin wrinkled shield of her skin.

"Who do you think I am today?" I asked.

Part of me was afraid of what she would say, but it had been so long since we had last touched in such an intimate way that it didn't bother me. I would take any title as long as it meant that I could hold her. Without a word, Bella took her hands and placed them on my chest, pushing slightly away from my body as she tried to look me in the face. Still smiling, she answered.

"You're my Edward."

Before I could process what she had said, her lips were upon mine, her warm tears sticking to my face. I kissed back as gently as I could, afraid of any movement that could cause her harm. When she pulled her face away from mine, the smile was still there; a positive sign from my standpoint.

"So," Bella began casually, "have you come to pick me up for prom?"

I looked at her, about to laugh, when I realized that she was serious. Reaching up for the curlers in her hair, Bella spoke.

"I was wondering why I had these silly things in my hair. Did Alice drop off a dress for me to wear?"

Suddenly I was the one staring in confusion. She recognized me, which was wonderful, but not in the way that I thought she would. To her, I was the 17-year-old boy that she had fallen in love with and she was still the 17-year-old girl. It was as though the past 67 years had not occurred. Our kids, our life, our memories were irrelevant. I tried to think of a way to correct her, but her happiness was so genuine. She believed that we were still young and I wasn't going to destroy that to tell her the truth. And so, I played along.

"As a matter of fact, Alice did drop off a dress for you," I began. "The newest fashion, so she has told me, are dresses that look like nightgowns. Alice was over earlier to help you get ready, which is why you have the curlers and the dress on."

I waited before continuing to determine whether she was believing what I said. Though I felt guilty for misdirecting her with the words, they were not complete false as Alice had indeed dressed and groomed her this morning. Like me, my entire family had been a vital part in Bella's life ever since she became ill.

Looking down at her dress, she fingered the fabric and traced the lines of lace around the trim. Returning her gaze to my face, she was positively radiant.

"Oh, Edward! It's the most beautiful dress I could ever ask for! Please tell Alice I send my thanks."

With my arms outstretched, I took Bella's hands in mine and helped her to stand. Once steady on her feet, she let go and then slowly spun herself around and curtsied when she completed the turn. Though her skin had sagged, wrinkles had formed and sun spots freckled her temples, when she spun in her gown and smiled at my words, she was the same Bella I had first fallen in love with.

Our wedding song had come to an end and it slowly faded to silence. I had listened to this CD many times over the past few years, so it was little surprise to me when_ Claire Lune_ began. I bowed to her, she smiled and nodded her head, and together we danced in the bathroom to the song we first fell in love to. Together we swayed in the candle light, holding each other closely, trying to keep the memory alive. As I looked into her deep brown eyes, I remembered our life. I saw Bella giggling under the Christmas tree as our new puppy licked her cheeks, Charlie and Jacob chasing Esme with safety scissors trying to cut off her cast, all of us surrounding Bella's father's grave as we laid him to rest. I saw the doctor explaining Bella's illness to us, and our children crying when their mother no longer recognized them.

And as the song ended, Bella and I slowed our dance, hugging each other and living in the moment. Keeping her head against my shoulder, Bella spoke.

"Will you stay with me tonight?"

She hadn't asked me that question since she was still in her teens. For the better half of our married life, there was no need to ask. Every moment, every instance, every second that we had, we would spend it together. Never was there a need to ask me to spend the night because it was an integral part of our routine. Taking my hand and tilting her face towards mine, I kissed her gently.

"Of course I will."

Leaving the bathroom, we walked down the hall to her bedroom. The creaks in the floor as our two feet walked in unison were a welcomed sound to the house; it has been so many years since we walked as lovers, in confident strides instead of in hesitant shuffles. As we walked past the nurse's room, I nodded to say goodnight and then continued to Bella's room.

First I lay Bella on the bed, wrapping her in blankets and tucking her in. Then I lay beside her, lifting her head gently and placing it upon my chest. She snuggled up closer to me as we lay in the dark and traced her fingers around the lines in my hand. Closing her eyes, she said one final thing.

"I love you, Edward."

At that moment, I never wanted to let her go. I wanted to keep her awake, to poke her and maker her uncomfortable, so that sleep would never come and the night would last forever. And yet, as her body became heavier against mine, and her breathing gently slowed, I realized that her peacefulness was all that I wanted. And as her breathing finally ceased, and her body turned to ice, I could not help but feel a happiness for her passing, for she was finally peaceful and at ease. For one final night in her life she was 17 again, happy and free, and in the truest of love.


End file.
